


Impropriety, or: Whatever Happened to Minding Your Own Damn Business, Victor?

by Roehrborn



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Daddy Kink, Dom!Wald, Established Relationship, Humor, Loud Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Oswald tries to be heroic in the worst way possible, Sex, Snark, Sub!Ed, Zsasz isn't trying to be rude this is just how he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:11:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roehrborn/pseuds/Roehrborn
Summary: “You guys have loud sex.”Oswald chokes on his morning coffee.





	Impropriety, or: Whatever Happened to Minding Your Own Damn Business, Victor?

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyy so I found [this prompt](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/154498061182/person-a-and-c-are-roommates-and-live-together) and I couldn’t resist.
> 
> Thank you so much to Flux for betaing!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> ~R

Zsasz bounces on the balls of his feet. The moon outside the Cobblepot-Nygma mansion is high overhead and bright white, casting the front lawn in high contrast.

A flicker of movement outside catches his eyes—but when he looks closer, it’s nothing more than a cat. Its predator’s eyes glint in the reflected light of the window, and it disappears into the bushes with hardly a sound.

There’s a loud _thump_ upstairs.

The rest of the house is still and quiet. Zsasz pokes one gloved finger against a nearby, and no doubt priceless, vase. It rocks where it stands but doesn’t fall over.

A muffled voice sounds from upstairs. “— _essss, will yo_ —”

There is no immediate sign of the small, yet vicious gang who’d threatened his bosses lives earlier today. Frankly, he doubts they’ll show, but it’s not his job to decide whether or not someone’s gonna show, it’s his job to take care of anyone who does.

He hears a slapping noise, like the impact of skin on skin.

Lifting his wrist up to eye level, Zsasz checks the time: 11:54 PM.

_“Are you gonna be my good boy now?”_

_“Yes, daddy, please! Please touch me! I’ll be good!”_

_“I don’t know, Eddie. You don’t sound like you mean it!”_

Zsasz quirks an idle smile. He’s getting a bit hungry. He’s thinking he could go for a peanut butter sandwich.

~

“You guys have loud sex.”

Oswald chokes on his morning coffee, clapping his hand over his mouth to catch the spilling droplets. When he pulls his hand away, coffee drips from his lower lip, an expression of horror twisting his face as he hisses: “ _What_?”

Beside him, Nygma is stock-still, a piece of toast frozen in his grip, halfway to his mouth. His eyes are wide and Zsasz imagines them rolling, like a frightened horse’s.

“You guys have loud sex,” Zsasz repeats, a little louder, and Oswald blanches white.

“You—” he splutters. “Why were you _listening_?”

“I couldn’t help it,” Zsasz says without inflection. “I could hear you through the whole house.” He spins his index finger in a circle, indicating the ground floor in general.

Nygma drops his toast and mutters faintly, “Oh dear.” The toast lands butter-side-down on the surface of the table.

“You guys like daddy kink, huh?” Zsasz asks, and Oswald’s flailing hand knocks into his coffee mug, sending it flying and shattering and spilling onto the hardwood floor.

“ _Victor_ ,” Oswald gasps, breathless, horrified. “Wh—”

“I’m not really surprised,” Zsasz adds, and Nygma makes a noise like a deflating balloon. He squints at Nygma. “You kinda seem like you’d be into that.” Nygma sinks down into his chair. The tips of his ears are fire engine red.

“Don’t—Victor—” Oswald slams his closed fist on the table. “Don’t _tease_ him, Victor, _stop_ it.”

“I’m not teasing,” Zsasz complains, but Oswald interrupts him.

“And I—I’m into it too!” Oswald announces loudly. “So don’t try to embarrass him, Victor, I won’t have it!”

“Oswald,” Nygma mutters faintly.

“Well, _duh_ , you’d be into it,” says Zsasz. “I’m just saying I can totally see it.”

“ _What do you mean you can see it_?” Oswald’s voice has reached an astonishingly high pitch.

“Not _literally_ ,” Zsasz clarifies, rolling his eyes. “I mean that with that whole power dynamic you’ve got going on. The whole…living in your house, eating your food, working for you thing.”

“You do two-thirds of those things!” Oswald snaps. His hand is distorted into a claw-like shape, trying to tear into the polished surface of the table. “What exactly are you trying to imply?”

“Crucially, though,” Zsasz says, taking a sip of his English breakfast tea, “I don’t fuck you.”

“Oswald,” Nygma mutters again. One of his hands shoots out to hover in the air before landing on Oswald’s shoulder. “I don’t think—”

Oswald’s ears are bright red. “Of—course— _what_? What does that have to do—?”

“I _don’t_ fuck you,” Zsasz repeats. He gestures toward Nygma with a polite pinky-point. “ _He_ does. He works for you even though he could probably get a job elsewhere. It’s a sugar daddy thing, right?”

“Ssss—shhhhh?” Oswald’s entire face is rose red.

“Isn’t it?” Zsasz asks, taking another sedate sip of his tea.

“Oswald, can’t we…”

“ _Victor_ , I have _never_ —” Oswald blurts, sounding like a scandalized dowager countess.

“Oswald, _letsgoupstairs_ ,” Nygma blurts in a rush. “ _Imnothungryanymore_.”

“What? Yes,” Oswald says distractedly. He does a double-take when he glances over to Nygma’s face. “Oh, darling, yes, sorry, we’ll—” He rises to his feet abruptly, grabbing Nygma’s forearm firmly. “We’re going upstairs,” Oswald informs Victor. “Don’t…We need to have a private discussion.”

Zsasz shrugs. “Just talk quieter.”

“This is _my house_ —” Oswald begins stridently, then appears to rethink. “This is _our house_ ,” he continues, and for some reason that makes Nygma blush _more_ , “and I won’t have you terrorizing us _in_ it, Victor.”

With an irritated huff, Zsasz sets his tea down on the surface of the table. “You called _me_ here!”

“ _To protect us_!” Oswald screeches. “ _Not to comment on our sex lives_!”

“Okay, fine!” Zsasz says. “If you’re going to be _that_ way about it.”

“I’m being— _I’m_ being that way?” Oswald snaps. “It’s a _sex life_ , Victor, it’s _supposed_ to be private.”

“I don’t mind telling you about mine,” Zsasz tells him, a little huffily, and Oswald looks almost ready to lunge at him.

“Oswald!” Nygma says sharply. “Let’s go upstairs!”

Oswald shuts his eyes and inhales deeply. “Yes,” he says after a moment. “Yes. Okay. Upstairs.”

“So you _don’t_ want me to tell you if I hear anything,” Zsasz clarifies.

“ _Use earplugs_!” Oswald hisses, and slams the door shut behind them.

“I won’t be able to hear an intruder, then,” Zsasz calls through the shut door, but there’s no response forthcoming. “Suit yourselves,” he says, and scoops up Nygma’s discarded toast, eating the entire thing in two bites.

As predicted, ten minutes later he hears a telltale noise from upstairs.

_“Daddy’s sorry, baby. Can you forgive me?”_

_“Yes, daddy.”_

Ah. Love. Zsasz smiles contentedly as he downs the rest of his tea in one gulp.


End file.
